Not enough
by VervainAndRoses
Summary: "No, Francis don't leave me!" She says, but he is already gone. A one shot for Nostradamus' vision in 1x13.


Mary wakes with alarm, indescribable fear gripping her as her gaze immediately goes to her side where Francis lays.

"You look beautiful when you sleep." He tells her, smiling faintly. She relaxes when she sees that he's awake, that he's still _here. _But she is still angry with herself for falling asleep. She's been by his bedside ever since he got sick, watching over him, but last night he coaxed her into bed, noticing her head was dropping. He'd begged her to give in and let herself sleep next to him and she, like she never could, didn't deny him.

But she hadn't planned to fall asleep at all. She just was going to wait until _he_ did and then slip out of bed to continue her nightly vigil. Every day for a week now, after the sun went down, she would settle herself in a chair next to their bed, a rosary held in her hands, the beads having left imprints on her skin from how strongly she gripped it as she prayed for him. And she would watch his chest rise up and down, sometimes more deeply than others; and continuously check on his temperature. The physicians came by every morning and pronounced his state worse than before. But she, against their pleads, still stayed by his side, taking care of him. They'd given her privacy then, _to say goodbye_, as she'd heard in their hushed whispers, yet she wasn't giving up on him. But she'd fallen asleep last night.

Her mind fights the fog of sleep as she awakens fully. She turns on her side, her hand going to brush Francis' hair out of his eyes. She'd expected him to be asleep still, but he's very awake, his blue eyes focused on her.

"Good morning love." She tells him, leaning forward to press a quick, faint kiss upon his lips. She rests back on her pillow, watching his eyes carefully to make sure he was truly looking at her and not through her. That his mind was still clear. Nothing scared her more than when he would hallucinate, seeing things that weren't there or earnestly calling for her even when she was right besides him.

Even if he'd been complimenting her the minute she woke up, she wanted to make sure he was still here with her, that more than his impossibly blue eyes were focused on her. So she resolves they should play again, this game that she started, trying to give him some happiness, something to hold on to.

"Do you want to discuss our plans for the day?"

She asks him, knowing he'll understand it's another of their make believe games. He nods faintly, and she caresses his shoulder, not being able to stop touching him.

"We'll break our fast in bed, like we did in our honeymoon, remember?" She asks him, and he nods with a small smile. They were so happy that week, every day more elating than the last, alone in a chateau overlooking a river, just enjoying each other with no responsibilities or danger or sickness looming over them. She understands Francis now, for she feels those carefree days like something sharp in her heart with the thought that they might never happen again. That her life, her happiness could be ripped away from her. Francis and those are one and the same. He's everything to her. And so she continues telling him about what they'll do today, hoping that it'll really happen once he gets better.

"Then, after we finish our duties for the day, we could take a stroll in the gardens. The grass is as green as ever Francis, and even the air tastes sweet outside." She says, her voice soft and slow so he catches all her words, so he can picture the image she paints in his mind. He hasn't been able to get out of bed for more than a week now, missing the quick change of seasons. "Roses are in full bloom outside; it's a rather beautiful sight."

"Not as beautiful as you." He tells her, the back of his hand brushing her hair, her shoulder. "You look beautiful when you sleep." He tells her, and her brow furrows at the fact that he already said that minutes before, and she's scared that his mind might be wondering away again. She forces herself to continue.

"After dinner, your usual game of catch with Anne. And James is going to want your attention too, with his reading." She tells him, once more speaking about their children as if they had been blessed with them in their short time.

"I'll have him work on it." Francis answers her, a smile pulling at his lips. And his pale blue eyes settle on hear, taking her breath away like they did the day she married him. Fear consumes her at the thought that she won't have this anymore.

"Promise?" she asks taking his hand. "Promise me and mean it. Promise me you'll try." She tells him. _Promise me you won't leave me, promise me that these fantasies will become our reality one day. _

"One year of marriage it isn't enough. Fight it Francis." She begs of him as tears start to fall from her eyes. "Please. I'll give you children; don't give up on our dreams. On the life we could have."

She can't lose him, she can't. The future is bleak and frightening without him and in her worst moments of weakness she's wanted to scream, "Take me with you." She can't imagine life without him at all. She knows she'll have to be strong for her people, that she'll have to rule her country, but for the first time that isn't enough to keep her going. Because she'll be alone, alone in her struggles once more. Without him by her side, pressuring her, arguing with her, loving her; like he promised he'd do until the day he died, but she's starting to realize that is not enough time.

She thinks that if she'll have to live without him, it won't be a life at all. She'll be dragging her pain behind her for the rest of her days, longing for him, never finding rest in sleep and hating to be awake. A tear drops into her pillow as she looks at him, and his eyes seemingly fight to stay open, blinking over and over again, making panic take over once more.

"That's such a beautiful dream." He whispers, before turning his head away. And if his faint tone of voice had scared her even further it's nothing compared to when she notices the bright blood seeping from his ear.

"No!" _Not yet, please._ "No, Francis don't leave me!" But he exhales one last time and his soul leaves his body with his breath, his eyes falling close. She rises up, bringing her lips to his forehead, dropping a kiss on the smooth, sweaty skin as her hand desperately caresses his cheek. Her devastating sobs start to break their way out of her body. She feels lost, and he can't be put back together but she's the one feeling broken. Pain clouds her vision like a film, or maybe it's her tears, falling relentlessly against his face. She can feel the pain, the ache settle in her bones, never again to leave her, like a solid thing. It pounds like a heartbeat and it's heavy, bitter. It tears her chest open and pulls, brings her down into despair, tears burning on their way out and no way to keep them in.

"Francis." She whimpers, kissing his cheek, her hand pressing over his chest now, trying to feel the beat of his heart. But there's nothing. There's no sound and emptiness and pain rush through her, spread like a mortal bleeding in her chest.

"No…" She wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his chest as she lets her tears out but the pain is unrelenting, she's soaked his shirt by the time someone comes in, noticing the state she's in and Francis blood staining his pillow. And then the steps go away quickly, surely running off to announce the death of the King of France, and Mary thinks through her misery that he should announce the death of the Queen of France and Scotland as well. Because she may still be alive, but with Francis gone her heart will never truly beat again.


End file.
